My Father's Gun
by Dizzle
Summary: Short little bit about Will and Lizzie and their son after At World's End. Mostly Will the 3rd centric.


_This was a oneshot I wrote on Father's Day, in about an hour. I wasn't planning on posting it, but a couple of friends read it on accident and told me I should put it up. So here it is. I've written many others, but this is my first thing to publish on here. Be kind, please. The lyrics at the end, as well as the title, are from Elton John's "My Father's Gun".  
_

_**Disclaimer: **I don't own the song. I don't own Pirates. I don't own Will, or Lizzie, or little Will. I do, however, own a really cool, life size Jack Sparrow stand up that I'm very proud of.  
_

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** My Father's Gun**

I was nine years old the first time I met my father. Mum had always given me reasons he wasn't there. He had a job to do; a very important job that no one but he could do. She made sure I knew that he loved me very much and that he wanted to be here for me, but he simply couldn't.

One day, every ten years. That's how often we would see him.

When I was younger, I believed my mother to be the strongest person in the world. For nine years, I thought that. Until I met my father. Even at my young age, I realized what the heartache and pain must do to him. Ten years straight out on the open ocean was trying enough without the burden of having a wife and child at home to be missed. He must have been miserable. But as miserable as he was, my mother was ten times worse.

Even with all the maids and money she had, she found it difficult to raise a boy on her own. It was hard for her to be alone after seeing him all the time when they were kids. She never took advantage of his absence, though I'm sure she was lonely enough to be tempted to. Unfortunately, I didn't start noticing how different she could be until the second time I saw my father, weeks before my twentieth birthday.

Once, we were eating dinner together. They kept making eyes at each other and I knew they just couldn't wait for me to leave them alone together. I watched my mother acting like an eighteen year old and in those minutes we ate as a family, I pitied her. Growing up without a father is hard, but I imagine living everyday without the man you love more than anything would be about the same, if not worse. He wrote to her almost monthly, but it was not quite like having him there beside her, with a body to hold and someone to speak to.

After he left that time, she became much more sullen than she had been before. I noticed she ate less, slept more, and would often leave me to be by herself. I wasn't angry, but I was concerned.

I saw my father two more times after that. My mother got older. But he, being immortal, aged only a little. He spoke to me once about her, the second to last time I saw him. He asked how she was doing, why she acted so tired all the time. Question after question was thrown at me, with me not knowing what to do but answer honestly. I thought she wasn't well and he could see that. He had been away for ten years and he noticed in a few minutes what took me years to figure out. He really knew her. He really loved her.

It was during this conversation he gave me his dagger, the same one he had apparently "used" to stab the heart of Davy Jones. "My father gave this to me and I made him a promise," he had said, "I fulfilled my promise to him and I would like for you to promise me something."

"Of course, anything, Father."

"Take care of your mother. And send for me if her 'condition' worsens. I may not be able to come see her, but at least I can be informed. And keep this safe, it may come in handy one day."

A few days before her sixty-first birthday, she brought before me a chest. When she told me what was inside of it, I didn't believe her. She silenced me, however, and told me to listen carefully. I did and was surprised to hear the unfamiliar thump of my father's heartbeat. I didn't understand why she showed it to me that day, but I suppose now I do.

A little under a year later, the time came for him to come back home again. I wasn't sure if mum remembered or not, because in the past, she had made all sorts of preparations for his return. This time, she did not. She simply lay in bed nearly all day, everyday. When the time came for my father to be home, he went in to see her. Hours later, he came outside and was silent. I knew that meant she was not doing well.

That day, he told me how he had become the _Dutchman_ captain, a story I had never heard before. He then proceeded to tell me stories of himself and my mother when they had first become betrothed. When he finished, he handed me a key and reminded me of the dagger he had given me ten years before. Then he stood from his chair, enveloped me in a hug, and returned to my mother's bed, lying beside her.

Half an hour later, I stabbed my father's beating heart.

Now that I think about it, I should have gotten him to teach me a few things about sailing before I laid him and my mother to rest. But I imagine I'll do fine as a captain. Pirate is in my blood, after all.

_From this day on, I own my father's gun  
We dug his shallow grave beneath the sun  
I laid his broken body down below the southern land  
It wouldn't do to bury him where any Yankee stands  
I'll take my horse and I'll ride the northern plain  
To wear the color of the greys and join the fight again __  
I'll not rest until I know the cause is fought and won  
From this day, on until I die, I'll wear my father's gun_


End file.
